


And you will know me by the actions I didn't take.

by Shiplockrewrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-His Last Vow, Post-Season/Series 03, Sleepy Cuddles, its implied at the end, marking it teen but really it's like a tiny touch, nothing sexual happens really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiplockrewrites/pseuds/Shiplockrewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I won't do it again, John." He takes a step back. Seems to mull it over. Nods his head a few times. Weighs my words against my past actions. Finds it doesn't balance.</p><p>"Won't you? If you had to then wouldn't you?" He doesn't do emotion. Not like this. But I suppose I've given him ample reason to ask. If he doesn't then it could very well be another two years before we talk again.<br/>_________________________________________________</p><p>I'm addicted to putting these two idiots in a room and making them talk. I like what I've wrote here. I might add more to it. Seems like a decent set up to a true fix-it. This is a bit of a half-formed scene...mostly just to get them to talk. I wrote this in an hour because I was a bit sad and wanted to put something happy-ish out into the world. Hope you enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And you will know me by the actions I didn't take.

**And you'll know me by the actions I didn't take.**

The ride back to Baker Street went quick. It should have felt like an eternity. All the time I'd be forced to waste not looking into Moriarty. No evidence to look through. Nothing more than a slim folder of what Mycroft's lackeys had found yet--nothing. But the ride took ages. And I didn't say anything.  Mary left in her and John’s car. John joined me and Mycroft. I heard them speak briefly on the ride over. They both assumed I'd gone to my mind palace. No. I hadn't been there since Christmas day.

I know that ours were different. His was used to collect information for blackmailing purposes and mine to aide in the pursuit of knowledge. They were different and yet I couldn't enter it. I wasn't sure what I would find there anymore. Would Moriarty return like he did when I was dying? Would Mary shoot me again? Would John now help Mary aim the gun? No, to the last one. At least I hope not. But for now I dare not enter.  I'm perfectly capable utilizing my RAM ,if you will. There is ample room there as long as I keep up a consistent routine of trivia deletion. Moriarty appearing on multiple TV and mobile screens despite no trace signal--keep. Mycroft mentioning that I should visit our parents now that I am being pardoned--delete. John mentioning he could go for a nice cuppa and how he's now taking a small bit of sugar--delete. No. Dammit. Of course it's a keep. Mycroft left us with two heavily armed guards outside of Baker. John and I calmed Mrs. Hudson. John did more of the calming. I did more of the telling her to be sensible and it would be fine.  
  
"Sherlock?"  
  
"What?" John looked at me like I am a fool. And I am. I am. I turn to her and smile.  
  
"Mrs. Hudson, there really is no cause for alarm. It will be fine."  
  
"Oh,Sherlock, but last time he almost ...."  
  
"Enough of that. It's fine. John and I could do with some tea. And biscuits." I say on my way up the stairs. I hear John tell her that we won't actually need anything. He'll take care of me. Will he? I'm not sure why he's here. I want him here but he has a very pregnant wife and I have to figure out how to best my greatest enemy. What to do about a man who succeeded in burni--.  
  
"Sherlock?" John calls my name snapping me back to attention. I can't respond appropriately. I want him here but...  
  
"What are you doing here, John?" Right to the point. I don't understand.  
  
"Figured I could be a bit of help. Am I, Am I wrong?" He's hurt. His face shows it. He wants to be here for many reasons. One is that it’s still strained at home with Mary. That explanation is as plain as day. He wears it everywhere. The way he turns away from her. The way he barely pecked her cheek as a goodbye before slipping in the car after me. The way his shoulders sag with the worry of it all. I'm not sure what more I can do. I've given him ample evidence and a few easy lies wrapped up in a nice agreeable bow for him. I'm trying. I'm trying because I can never repair the damage I did by leaving him for two years and... I understand now. I walk close to him. I turn him to face me. My body temperature rises when I'm near him and though I'm successful at shutting it down when Mary's around, right now I can't. Right now I just need him to understand.  
  
"I won't do it again, John." He takes a step back. Seems to mull it over. Nods his head a few times. Weighs my words against my past actions. Finds it doesn't balance.  
  
"Won't you? If you had to then wouldn't you?" He doesn't do emotion. Not like this. But I suppose I've given him ample reason to ask. If he doesn't then it could very well be another two years before we talk again.  
  
"No, you have to know I wouldn't do that again." I laugh and try to make him smile. "Besides I don't think he'd fall for the old fall off a hospital and make your best friend watch trick again."  
  
He laughs. Thank God or whatever it is in the cosmos that lets John Watson feel relief enough to laugh. To smile. The smile lingers on his lips but somehow turns a bit murderous. He doesn't believe me.  
  
"If it was to save me, would you?"  
  
Damn.  
  
"I would uh..." It is an obvious delaying strategy and not even a good one. And there is an answer there. Somewhere. The one that would satisfy John Watson and not be a lie. Because he asked me to not lie again. Not if he asked me a question directly.  
  
"Sherlock?" He is persistent. There is no right answer here so go for the wrong but truthful one and hope for the best.  
  
"Yes." He lets out a breath and I want him to look at me. He doesn't. He looks down. He looks away. He turns and looks at the whole of the room and everything, everything in 221B has his attention but me. "But I wouldn't want to do it.  For God's sake, John. You know I'd have to then."  
  
"Sherlock,you…” He turns to me. Jaw set. Fire in his eyes. Betrayal thick and heavy in his lungs as he breathes shakily. He clenches and unclenches his fist. Calms himself enough to continue. “There has to be another way."  
  
"Why are we even discussing this? God knows if the man is even truly back,” I say “Perhaps we could cross that bridge when we come to it?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah. You're right." He says and goes to make the tea he promised Mrs. Hudson he'd brew. I sit at the partner's desk. It's quiet in the flat. And it should be quiet on the street. A mass murderer and truly terrifying man has just returned from the dead and yet people walk past our place like nothing is happening. People popping off to Tesco to pick up a few things like any other day. I open up my laptop and begin typing. All the relevant searches bring up nothing. Pull out my phone and send out a few feelers to a few trusted members of the homeless network. Outside of Mycroft's people, they'll be the first to get me something of use. John is puttering around the kitchen and my eyes droop. I finally realize that I am home. For good. It's not the same as last time. When I was under house arrest pending Mycroft's negotiations. Where the place felt wrong in so many ways. But now it is home again and John is in the kitchen making tea. And , yes, Moriarty is back but God I am tired. Tired to my core and I want to sleep. There is no point in trying to hide it. So when the yawn hits me I don't hide it from John who will be on it in moments.  
  
" Maybe you should get some sleep. yea?" He says before the yawn has even fully ended.  
  
"Maybe," I say and move to my armchair. He clicks off the kettle and pours me a cup. I hear the sound of the tea hit the cup. The long pour fills the air and I am transfixed for a moment. It sounds like heaven. John Watson pouring me tea. He brings it. I sniff and I realize he's poured me chamomile tea.  
  
"Trying to put me down?" I say and wince a bit. He doesn't know. I never told him. He catches the wince at my words. Doesn't say though.  John is good that way. He only asks when he has to ask.  
  
"No, no just trying to help you get some rest. You've got a madman to catch--again." He says. But he doesn't sit in his chair though I am in mine. He is missing his cue. I nod to his chair. He doesn't move.  
  
"Bedroom," he says and he walks towards mine. I stare at his retreating form transfixed.  
  
My heart is beating like a drum and I've no idea if I am dreaming or not. I'd pinch myself but that wouldn't resolve a thing. I know for a fact you can feel pain in dreams. Steadying my breath I get up and walk behind him. He opens my bedroom door and walks in. He stares at the bed for a bit as if he is assessing it. When it meets his approval, he starts undressing himself. He says nothing.  
  
"John?"  
  
He removes his shirt first and then shoes followed by socks and his trousers. He is wearing very plain green boxers. My mouth waters. I try to shut it down. Regardless of somewhat obvious aborted confessions, he doesn't know and I will not say. He keeps his vest on and seems to be preparing for bed when he turns to me.  
  
"Well?" is all he says before cocking an eyebrow that does nothing to explain what the hell is happening right now.  
  
John, just what the fuck are you doing? is what I mean to say. Instead I simply swallow and tighten my lips. I add in a furrowed brow to show how truly confused I am.  
  
He walks over and starts unbuttoning my shirt. I can't do anything. I don't know what to do. Is this just the next step in mollycoddling or is it something else? I decide to close my eyes. He takes his time. He unbuttons one button then slides his hand down my shirt to the next button. He holds the shirt steady with his right hand. Works the buttons out with his left.  His breathing is all I can hear. His is utterly steady and mine absolutely isn't. I work on calming it. Taking deep breaths. In and out. His hand rises and falls as I inhale and exhale. But all breathing functions cease when his hand moves to the waist of my trousers. I open my eyes and look down at his hand then back up at him.  
  
"John,I don't know what..."  
  
"Shut up, Sherlock," he commands in the softest tone I've ever heard from him. And I shut up. He pulls my belt out quickly as if he an expert in pulling belts out of trousers in one-go. The clasp is next and then the zipper.  The sound of John Watson unzipping my trousers may very well be my favorite sound in the world now. (With apologies to a variety of beloved composers.) The symphony of him unzipping my trousers along with his now staccato breath and the movement of fabric is a concerto of perfection.  
  
I am hard. I cannot hide it. He doesn't seem to mind. He reaches up and pushes my shirt off my shoulders. Then pauses and says, "Open up." I do. He pushes my trousers down and he maneuvers me out of them.   
  
"On the bed with you," he says. And I quickly sit down on the edge of the bed. He goes to his knees and removes my shoes then socks. All the while looking  me in the eyes. His dark blue eyes seem steady and sure. Then again John always seems steady and sure.  
  
"Lie down," he says. Of course I obey. Scooting all the way to the other side. And I realize what this is. He knows I need sleep. He knows I have a lot to do soon. And I wasn't exactly sleeping well prior to this. If he doesn't force me to sleep now then I won't until this is all over. It truly is the next step of molly coddling. Which is fine. To be coddled by John Watson is a truly fine thing. I close my eyes, lay my head on my pillow, and try to drift to sleep.  
  
"Thank you, John."  
  
"Mmm," He says and I assume it will be left at that. But then he moves quickly and he holds on to me. Tight. So tight. Like a vice grip. I sink into the feeling of John Watson holding me. His face in the crook of my neck. His arms tight around me. It's wonderful to be held by John. I know that now.  
  
"You can't," he says. "You can't do that to me again."  
  
"I.."  
  
"No, I would rather die than live without you again, Sherlock."  
  
"I would die along with you if you did." I say and reveal as much of the truth as I can right now.  
  
"Then it's settled," he says. "Neither of us can die." He laughs and somehow finds purchase to hold me even tighter. It’s somewhat hard to breathe and it's a bit glorious.  
  
"I'm good with that," I agree. He nuzzles his nose into my neck and breathes me in. I say nothing. He is saying nothing about my erection digging into his thigh. I can hold up my end of this silent agreement and say nothing about the fact that we've never done this before and it doesn't seem like typical best friend behaviour. He presses a small kiss onto my neck next and I whimper because John Hamish Watson kissed a part of me.  
  
"John?" I don't want to say. But for his sake....  
  
"Yea?"  
  
"Is this..I mean… Would Mary...” I sigh. “What is this?"  
  
He laughs. Of course he laughs.  The man laughs at crime scenes. He's quite mad. No one believes me but he truly is just as mad as I am.  
  
"I don't know, Sherlock," he says and shifts his body. His body which includes one scar on the upper left shoulder, a compact frame, ten skilled fingers, other very important body parts, and (now I can feel it) an erection pressed into my thigh.  
  
"I," he begins and stops.  And I'd like to bloody deduce it all so we could both understand because he seems as confused as me right now. "I think we're in love with each other." He finally says.  
  
"Oh." I very eloquently add. _Yes very good addition, Sherlock_. I can hear Mycroft’s scorn and God he doesn't need to be popping into my head right now.  
  
"Yeah. I...," He says and sighs again. "Can't you tell? Isn't this what you do?"  
  
"World's only consulting love-o-meter? Mmm not really my area."

He chuckles but quickly rebounds and presses on. "But if you were to wager a guess why we both get jealous of anyone in each other's lives? Why when you left I mourned you like I lost a limb? And the only people who understood were people who’d lost their spouses or significant others? Why when you came back I had to fight myself to stay with... Why when you just said you could leave again, I felt myself dying worse than that day in Afghanistan? Explain that in another way. Because God , Sherlock, I'm not gay. At least I don’t think….I've never really fancied blokes. Not like this. And I have a pregnant wife who is waiting for me to come home. So if you have another reason then God I'd love to hear it." He finishes and his breathing is hard and fast and it's like he's angry. Angrier than I've ever seen him but he is still touching me so gently. Making perfect circles on my back with his finger tips.  
  
"John?"  
  
"Yea?"  
  
"I think you're right."  
  
"About?" And I knew he'd play dumb or maybe he knows me well enough to confirm just what he's right about.  
  
"I suppose, we are...that," I say. "But if you're not ya know.."  
  
"Gay?"  
  
"Yes. Then I think you let go of me and you go home. I have dealt with this for years. I can continue to ignore it."  
  
He holds me tighter.  
  
"Really? You can ignore it?"  
  
"Of course. Have I not shown success over the years?"  
  
"So jumping off a building and shooting a man point-blank is hiding it?" He laughs.  
  
"Even so."  
  
"Even so nothing," He says. We both grow silent.

"Let's just stay here for a bit, “ He says. “You need your rest. She isn't expecting me."  
  
"Course. Shall we sleep?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah let's do that." He says but then he draws back and kisses me on the lips. My eyes drift close as I focus on the touch. It lingers as he presses his lips into mine and caresses them, darts his tongue out. I open and let his tongue inside. And John Watson's tongue caressing mine followed by his moan and my whimper is my new favorite symphony.  (With apologies to the zipper from earlier and a variety of very talented composers.) He kisses me and kisses me and moves his hands all over my body and then he pulls back. My eyes pop open and look at him.  
  
"Or we could do....that?" He amends.  
  
I smile.  
  
"Okay."


End file.
